


Lazy Afternoons

by Kyra_Bane



Series: Kinktober 2020 [The Old Guard] [12]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Kinktober, Kinktober 2020, Lazy Sex, Love, M/M, Mentioned Andy | Andromache of Scythia, Mentioned Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Mentioned James Copley, Mentioned Nile Freeman, lazy afternoons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:55:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27090838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyra_Bane/pseuds/Kyra_Bane
Summary: Even after a millennium, sometimes you still just want to climb into your beloved’s lap and make out like teenagers.The advantage of not being teenagers? A house to yourselves, a couch to yourselves, and all the time in the world.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: Kinktober 2020 [The Old Guard] [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1930153
Comments: 12
Kudos: 371





	Lazy Afternoons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gentlesleaze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gentlesleaze/gifts).



> kinktober prompt 12: heated kisses/consensual groping
> 
> basically have given up on catching up - which is to say, i'm planning to FINISH every prompt but lmao this is def gonna spill over into november. (although tomorrow is my big comment reply day i swear every comment breathes life into me 🥰)
> 
> thank you to gentlesleaze again for this prompt, it was so lovely to write! (especially after semi-combative nile/quynh yesterday 👀)

Joe’s painting again. 

Nicky looks up from his book, smiles at the way Joe’s nose wrinkles when he’s not _quite_ got the line right he’s been working on, and then turns back to the page. 

He stopped painting for a while, after Merrick. Nicky knows it’s not Merrick, specifically, that tore his beloved from his escape; more likely, it was Booker.

Nicky frowns when he realises that one thought of Booker has him skipping half a page, and his eyes move to the top again. 

Joe is still angry, of course, still furious. Andy is just sad – and Nicky thinks that’s because she understood what Booker was saying in the lab. Nicky understood it too, but Joe won’t until he wants to and he doesn’t _want_ to, which is…

It’s fair, Nicky supposes. There is no excuse for what Booker did to them. 

Explanations, sure. He’s forgiving enough for that. He will never forgive an excuse, and he thinks Booker knows that.

Wherever he is. Wherever Andy and Nile are, right this second, because Andy had told he and Joe to get away for a while; Nile is as equipped as she can be, less than a year dead, to bum around with Andy for a bit, although Nicky suspects they’re secretly taking on their own small missions.

Still, he trusts Copley to call them, should things get out of control. He seems rather protective of Nile – because she’s so young, because she’s of this _time,_ even if she’s not of an age with him. 

Nicky shuts his book and puts it aside. Interesting as it is, clearly his mind is elsewhere and he’d rather come back to it when he has the ability to concentrate.

He goes into the kitchen to make tea. Black for them both, because it’s only just the afternoon, and he considers making lunch but he’s not hungry yet. He places Joe’s mug next to his elbow and Joe doesn’t look up but he does mutter, “Thank you,” and Nicky smiles at that.

He’s content to watch Joe for half an hour or more, sipping at his tea, admiring the focus in his expression, the way his hands move so skilfully.

Of course, that’s a terrible train of thought because it leads to _other_ ways in which Joe’s hands are skilful and that focus can be best used and it’s not long before Nicky’s fidgeting in his chair. 

He finishes his tea, looks at his book, and sighs. 

Joe’s set up in the living room, because there’s nowhere else in this apartment to paint, and so he’s perched on the edge of an armchair, the small easel Andy found resting on the coffee table. It’s not an ideal set up and, were they anyone else, Nicky would be a little worried about the state of Joe’s posture.

As it is, he stands and, as Joe leans away from his painting – Nicky doesn’t want to ruin it – he climbs into the chair behind him.

Joe chuckles as Nicky fidgets until he’s got one leg either side of Joe’s hips, and he’s pressing his chest along Joe’s back.

“You could’ve asked, habibi,” Joe says, but Nicky just hums, looking at the painting.

It’s a landscape, somewhere in Spain, if Nicky remembers correctly. They went there once – he can’t remember if it was for a mission or just for themselves – and they’d stayed at a cottage in the countryside, hills rolling for miles on either side, and Joe had been mesmerised by the view.

Like always, Nicky had been mesmerised by _him,_ so at least they had both had something beautiful to look at.

“It’s lovely,” he says quietly, means it, and Joe rests his head against Nicky’s shoulder. He’s put his brush down and the painting is clearly unfinished; Nicky doesn’t want to interrupt him, really, but Joe doesn’t seem to mind.

“I woke up thinking about that place,” Joe says. “I think if we went back, it would not be the same.”

No. They had to have been there a century before, at least. Now, their cottage has probably been swallowed up by a town, and Nicky doesn’t mind that the world changes around them but he wishes there was some magical place he could take Joe that has managed to stand still, so they could stand still with it.

He can’t do that. He can dip his head, drop a kiss to where Joe’s neck meets his shoulder, and so he does. He’s wrapped his arms around Joe’s waist and Joe holds onto him.

“You’ve been distractible today,” he says and Nicky still doesn’t reply. He kisses under Joe’s ear. “Is this why?”

This isn’t a _need._ Not the way it can be, not the way it was after Merrick, when he’d needed to check they’d both made it out of that lab whole. He feels need often enough to recognise it and this isn’t a desperate charge under his skin – more of a sluggish warmth that doesn’t have to go anywhere.

So, he kisses Joe’s neck again, rests his face there for a moment. Joe strokes his forearms because he knows him, he understands, and they are both people who can want, just for the sake of it.

Nicky kisses everywhere he can reach, going slow, and Joe’s breath hitches, occasionally, when Nicky flicks his tongue out to taste skin, or when he lingers on a particular patch. He’s only stroking Nicky’s arms with his fingertips but warmth diffuses from every point of contact and it’s gentle and relaxed and _lovely._

Eventually, Joe lifts his head, turns, and Nicky kisses him on the mouth. He can’t begin to guess how many times they’ve kissed – he thinks perhaps they’ve shared every type of kiss imaginable – but this one is languid, something that would not have been possible early in their relationship; perhaps not for the first hundred years or more. They sigh into each other’s mouths and Joe turns to get closer and Nicky rucks up his t-shirt at the back, but only so he can touch skin. They part to kiss again, and again, and each one is building, adding fuel to a gently-stoked fire, but there’s nothing desperate about it.

Joe pulls back from the kiss, his cheeks a little flushed and his lips tug up into a smile. “If we’re going to make out, let’s at least move to the couch,” he says. “I don’t want to twist my back into knots.”

Nicky snorts, because if anyone could then it’s _Joe,_ but Joe takes his hand and tugs him to his feet and Nicky sways into him for a moment, just so Joe will catch him. They kiss again, unhurried, Joe’s hands firmly on Nicky’s hips, Nicky’s in Joe’s hair. He runs his fingers through it, scratches against Joe’s scalp, and Joe groans in the back of his throat.

“You’ll have me asleep before anything else, you keep that up,” he says and Nicky laughs.

“You should relax more, hayati,” Nicky says and Joe rolls his eyes.

They move to the couch, sitting next to each other, and Joe lifts Nicky’s chin to hold him in place as they kiss again. There’s a little more intent this time, but not much; this could still go either way. This isn’t new, either, though Nicky’s not sure he’s quite lost count of afternoons whiled away _just_ kissing. Joe’s quick to build himself to a point of no return and Nicky’s always quick to follow. 

Today, though? Today, he knows they’re both more than content with this. The night before, Nicky fucked Joe into the mattress; the night before that, Joe fucked him up against the wall. They’ve relearnt each other through touch, comforted each other, communicated with each other…

This is just enjoyment. A luxury, that they have time and space enough to indulge in.

Joe throws one leg over Nicky’s and Nicky holds him in place but their kiss doesn’t deepen. Instead, Joe kisses along Nicky’s jaw, slowly, and Nicky traces a pattern on his thigh. He lets out a harsh breath when Joe settles into one spot, starts working on a mark that, if he didn’t heal, would leave a bruise and an ache for days. 

He can feel himself stirring, too, the inevitable by-product of the person he loves most in the world touching him like this, doing his best to leave a mark on him. Nicky had tried it too, the night before, a sudden flash of possession brought on by the memory of Joe being shot, which was chased by the ghosts of all the people who’d ever lain hands on Joe before. Of course, the marks had faded, but Joe had still arched up when Nicky had pressed fingers where his mouth had just been, mewled and begged for more. 

“Joe,” Nicky murmurs and Joe meets his gaze, eyes dark. 

“Yes, habibi?” 

“I love you.”

Joe smiles, bright and unfettered and Nicky’s heart seizes the same way it does, every time. He’s never become used to that – to Joe’s smile – and if he can’t count all the times they’ve kissed, all the ways they’ve physically shown their love, he’s certain every single smile is enshrined somewhere in his heart.

“I love you, too,” Joe says and climbs into Nicky’s lap, takes his face in his hands before he kisses him. Joe’s rings, the metal warm, press against his skin, and Nicky slides his own hands under Joe’s t-shirt, strokes down his back and sides. Joe licks into his mouth and Nicky groans; this is definitely going to end up being more than kissing, but he doesn’t feel the urgency needed to drag Joe to the bedroom, either.

Nicky pulls away to skim his lips along Joe’s cheekbone, kiss his ear, down the side of his neck. Joe pushes his hips forward, ever so slowly, and Nicky doesn’t think he’s hard either, but maybe he’s almost there.

“Bed?” he asks and Joe shakes his head.

“Like you here,” he says and he’s stroking Nicky’s arms again, where he can reach. They kiss again, and again, and even when Nicky is hard, he’s still happy to be lost in the feeling of Joe’s lips on his, Joe’s hands so comfortable on his shoulders, and they’re rocking against each other, now, but the build-up is just what they both want it to be.

Nicky drops his head against the back of the couch, just so he can look up at his beloved. Joe moves his hands down, over Nicky’s still-clothed chest. He kisses the tip of Nicky’s nose and Nicky laughs, even as their cocks rock together through their sweatpants. 

Joe thrusts against him a little harder and Nicky slides his hands under his sweats to squeeze his ass. Joe buries his face against Nicky’s shoulder. Nicky’s surprised they’ve taken it this far – he doesn’t know what time it is anymore – but he knows Joe is closer than he is, just from the way he shudders when Nicky bucks his hips up, the way he’s suddenly panting, breath warm and damp against Nicky’s throat.

“There is no rush, caro,” Nicky murmurs.

Joe doesn’t reply; he mouths at Nicky’s throat. Nicky feels it too, of course; there’s still no real urgency but pleasure is building at the base of his spine and he’ll get there, in time. For now, he uses his grip on Joe to pull him forward even as he thrusts up, and Joe holds onto him, pulls the collar of Nicky’s t-shirt aside to press open-mouthed kisses to his shoulder.

He comes after a while of that, eyes fluttering shut as he lets out a low moan. Nicky’s still holding onto him, is staring up at the ceiling as Joe comes back to himself.

When he does, he kisses Nicky again, mouth still soft, and Nicky slides his hands up to settle at Joe’s waist.

“Hmm, I think I know how I want you,” Joe murmurs and God, he looks beautiful like this, lazy, comfortable, _sensual,_ and Nicky doesn’t think he’d ever use that word about anyone else. He’s warm in Nicky’s arms, waiting for him to agree, and sometimes Nicky loves Joe so much it hurts – but this isn’t one of those times.

This time is… enough. Perfect. The love inside him is overflowing, sure, but it’s not something he could drown in. 

Joe must see something in his expression; his smile widens and makes Nicky catch his breath again. He tilts his head, an agreement, and Joe gives him a closed-mouthed kiss before he slides off Nicky and down to his knees. 

Nicky rests his hands on his thighs. Joe looks up at him, as he tugs down the waistband of Nicky’s sweatpants, just enough to expose his cock, and there’s no teasing, no pre-amble. Joe takes him in his mouth, pressing his tongue to the underside of Nicky’s cock, and Nicky groans.

It’s a messy blow job, sloppy, but it’s like Joe wants to _enjoy_ him; not in the way that he does when they’re desperate, can’t get enough, just that he wants his tongue everywhere, wants his mouth and senses full of Nicky. Nicky watches him, and he’s close, because how couldn’t he be after all that?

Joe reaches for one of Nicky’s hands, lacing their fingers together. He sucks a little harder, takes more of Nicky’s length, and Nicky pets at his hair to warn him – he’s closer than he thought.

Joe winks at him – actually, physically _winks_ – because his beloved is nothing if not a confident man, and Nicky laughs, gasping when Joe teases his orgasm out of him, a warm crashing wave of pleasure that really doesn’t sneak up on him at all.

He drops his head back again, whole body tingling, and Joe tucks him gently back in and climbs into his lap again, all without letting go of his hand.

“You do have the best ideas, habibi,” he murmurs and skims his mouth along the underside of Nicky’s chin before he leans up and captures his mouth again.

Nicky kisses him back, slings his other arm around Joe’s waist. “Ti amo,” he murmurs when they part for breath. There’s no space for any other words in his brain right now.

Joe takes Nicky’s face in his hands again. Nicky’s eyes flutter closed and Joe presses his lips, almost reverently, to each of his eyelids, his cheeks, the tip of his nose, his mouth.

“You’re all and you’re more, Nicolò,” he says, “You should always know what you mean to me.”

Nicky smiles, and kisses him, because he does. He really, truly does.


End file.
